


What Stays and What Fades Away

by Anomalie, Myth979



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: Anomalie hates season 2 and so should you, F/M, Myth likes politics and conniving matriarchs who mostly mean well, OCs out the ying yang, The Pindanons as political powerhouses, everyone has baggage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-01 04:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15135116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anomalie/pseuds/Anomalie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myth979/pseuds/Myth979
Summary: Even a year after the demon war, nothing is easier. Sometimes it seems like nobody wants it to be.(Season 2 what if with OCs and all the politics we can stuff in)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Myth felt that season 2 missed eighty million possibilities for elf politics, which are her favorite things, and also that some Elessedil somewhere deserved happiness for a full half hour. Anomlie felt that everything was deeply stupid, even if we both agreed that the show had it right and only Manu Bennet can defeat Manu Bennet. This is the result.
> 
> (as a side note, show: You killed Catania TWICE? Seriously?)

“I’m not marrying a seventeen year old,” Ander said. “I can’t believe anyone suggested it.”

Edain nudged his horse out of the way of Ander’s, who tended to start putting her ears back and nipping when her rider was upset. “Well, it’s more of those kind of proposals you have to look forward to when we get back. I told them the whole thing was a bad idea. Nobody listens to me.”

Ander grimaced and reined in Halla. “Thanks for trying, anyway. Nobody wants to listen to me either, and I’m the king.”

“You could always marry Imogen,” Edain said, lightly enough that Ander was almost sure it was a joke. “She’s still single.”

“Right,” Ander said. “That wouldn’t be a disaster. It’s not like your sister hates me.”

“Hey, at least she’s not a teenager.”

“Can we joke about this later?” Ander asked. “Maybe when I don’t have people to feed and house with nothing at all in the treasury.”

“So marry the richest girl and keep the family close,” Edain said. “It’s a time-honored tradition.”

“That would be the seventeen year old.”

“The second richest girl.”

“Your sister, who hates me.”

Edain shrugged. “She’d come around. You’re charming.”

“Thanks,” Ander said dryly, and nudged Halla into a trot.

The village, when they arrived, already had food being passed around. It was bland fare - mostly bread and some watery soup - but it was there. Some houses were even in the process of repair.

“We’re beholden to Trissan Pindanon,” the headwoman told Ander when he asked, arms crossed and eyeing him critically. “The Pindanons take care of their own. His cousin that’s in the west sent supplies soonest.”

The west hadn’t been untouched by demons either, though. The demon attacks had started there. When Ander pointed that out, the headwoman sniffed and repeated that the Pindanons took care of their own.

“Their own and no one else,” Ander muttered as he left. He had managed not to stomp back to Halla - it wouldn’t have been very kingly, and he didn’t want people to think he was angry these people were fed - but it was close.

“Pindanons,” he told Edain. “They’ll be a thorn in my side for forever, but if they’d feed the rest of the Elflands I’d at least respect them.”

“I respect Kael heaps,” Edain said. “I will swear to it in a court of law, and it has absolutely nothing to do with how much I fear her.”

Ander snorted.

“Be nice to the Pindanons, Ander,” Edain said more seriously. “Kael already managed one successful coup.”

“Yeah,” Ander said, and, after making sure no one else was close enough to hear, “Remind me to throw her in prison when we get back.”

_ “Back _ in prison,” Edain muttered, but Ander ignored that. Kael Pindanon’s political indestructibility was too frustrating to think about at the moment.

That village had been the last planned visit on this particular tour of the Elflands, and Ander was not looking forward to returning to Arborlon. At least when he was out riding he was doing something: in Arborlon he had mountains of paperwork, council meetings with councillors that hated him, and people throwing their questionably eligible daughters in his direction. Also wine. Lots of wine. Ander used the thought of someone wanting him to marry a seventeen year old to keep himself on track.

A seventeen year old was not eligible in Ander’s book, and Ofelia Jeptanah had looked like she thought he was going to eat her alive. The look did not subside even when he assured her he wasn’t going to marry her. In retrospect was not the most diplomatic of assurances; her uncle had sent a hard glare at Councillor Hardin before sweeping Ofelia out of the room.

Ander had sent his own glare at Hardin, who had only shrugged. Kael’s smugness could probably be felt from the Ellcrys, but she hadn’t suggested any of her Pindanon relations to him yet, though the aide behind her (one of her granddaughters, he thought: this one looked a bit like Kael, if Kael’s hair had still been blonde) watched him as if she might eat him alive.

He spared a brief moment to wonder if maybe Kael’s plan was to have everyone else present him with women he found uninteresting so she could appear to be making some sort of gesture, but Kael knew he didn’t trust her. Maybe she was staying out of it entirely. Maybe the granddaughter she had trailing her was here to murder him. He might let her if it meant he could get some real sleep.

There was another village they could stop by on the way back. It was small, but it had originally been a field hospital out this way during the demon war, and it was where Catania had gone. She said it was to be useful, but Ander thought it was to escape the awkwardness of having a king for an ex.

“One more stop,” he said.

“It’s my head on a platter if I don’t get you back to the council in time for that meeting,” Edain warned.

“Who’d dare to take it?” Ander retorted. “I just want to check on Catania.”

“Well,” Edain said, smirking. “If Catania is there.”

“Shut up,” Ander said with more venom than was necessary. “She’s Amberle’s friend.”

“You don’t sleep with all your niece’s friends, right?”

Ander ignored him.

* * *

Catania was bandaging someone’s head wound when Ander, Edain, and the rest of Edain’s Home Guards rode up.

“Trouble?” Ander demanded of the nearest local.

“Just a brawl, sir. Highness. Majesty,” the man said, stumbling over the titles.

“Catania?”

“Don’t distract me,” she said, tacking on a belated, “Your Majesty.”

He waited until Catania finished and sent her patient off with strict instructions about staying off her feet to say, “You can still call me Ander. You always have.”

Edain raised a mocking eyebrow at him as Catania said unconvincingly, “Of course.”

Ander resigned himself to being majestied by his ex. She only used to be formal when Amberle was especially annoyed with him. He supposed Catania herself could be annoyed with him now, but he didn’t know why: she was the one who had broken up with him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, standing only when he dismounted and bobbing a quick curtsey. He didn’t think she’d listen to him about not having to curtsey, either. “There’s something you need to see - I asked the headman to keep everyone else away, but I don’t know if he did.”

The Home Guard formed up around them both. Edain remained mounted, but two more guards got down to walk behind Ander, staying just out of range of Halla’s more casual kicks. Catania led them a mile in the direction opposite the capital  and stopped, pointing.

There were dead people in the trees. Ander swore and started forward, but the guards moved in front of him and Edain rode to the bodies instead.

“Magic sympathizers,” Catania said, as if she were quoting. She sounded calm enough, but she had clasped her hands in front of herself and they shook.

“The Crimson,” one of the Home Guard said unnecessarily. “They’re getting braver.”

“Riga’s never been brave in his life,” Ander retorted, not quite truthfully. “He’s killing my citizens for stupid reasons, and I want him found.”

“We are trying, Ander,” Edain said, riding back. “He’s got half the countryside covering for him and the other half too scared to help.”

Catania said, “I’ve never met a supporter of his.”

“That you know of,” Edain pointed out. “They’re not going to tell the king’s lover they know anything about Riga.”

“Ex-lover,” Catania muttered.

“Even more reason to get Ander back to Arborlon right away,” Edain continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Scared people do things they wouldn’t otherwise. We don’t have any more Elessedils laying around.”

Ander wanted to say something sarcastic, but his friend was worried. Even Catania kept darting little wary glances his way and watching the trees as if she expected Riga to leap out of them here and now. He acquiesced to the inevitable.

* * *

“Is Aroborlon exactly how you remembered?” Trissan asked. Esselt’s cousin had more than a little bite to his words: he had been in Arborlon when the demons came.

“No,” Esselt replied. Beside her, Lorelon shifted in his saddle, looking at everything. She had never taken him outside of their estates before, aside from their brief sojourn at Faranath during the war. She didn’t want to think about Faranath.

“Is that the Ellcrys?” Lore asked, pointing.

“Pointing at people is rude,” Esselt reminded him, and the thirteen year-old lowered his hand immediately.

“It’s a tree, Ez,” Trissan pointed out, amusement returning to his voice. “It couldn’t see him even if he was standing next to it.”

“Forgive me for wanting to respect her for keeping us all alive,” Esselt retorted, and Trissan laughed.

“Don’t talk about it in front of Grandmother,” he advised. “She seems to think it was all a political maneuver to swing public opinion back towards the Elessedils.”

“Public opinion has been with the Elessedils as long as you and I have been alive,” Esselt said. “We Pindanons continue despite it.”

“Not that anyone’s opinion has ever mattered to you.”

_ Your opinion used to, _ Esselt thought.  _ Then you caved to the family and cut off all contact until Marc was dead. _

Mentioning her dead husband might get her the cooperation of her in-laws and their tenants, but it had never helped with her own relations. She said none of it.

“Grandmother will be glad to see you,” Trissan said into the silence. “You’re her favorite.”

As a joke it fell short: Esselt always had been Kael’s favorite. She might even still be Kael’s favorite, but Kael knew Esselt wasn’t Kael’s unequivocal supporter.

Which could be  _ why _ Esselt was Kael’s favorite, despite the three-year-long shunning mandate. Her grandmother hadn’t been angry, her uncle assured her before he rode back and never wrote. Kael was just disappointed. Esselt needed to consider what was best for the family.

He had lied, of course. If Esselt had unknowingly upset Kael’s plans there would have been disappointment that Esselt hadn’t figured out the plans. Knowingly undermining her was something else.

So Esselt had retired to the country and her husband’s lands and put into practice all the training in stewardship and defense and investment she’d had drilled into her since before she was even a year old, when her parents died and Kael had taken over the raising of her. Esselt had done well, which had only made Kael more furious, she assumed. All that training, all those brains, and all those good looks wasted on a country baron, Kael had said with what might have been real sorrow when Esselt had come back into the fold nine years ago.

Well, now Kael’s great-grandson was the nominal lord of the richest country barony in the west, and Esselt had been the one to make it that way. Lorelon’s lands under her stewardship had been feeding half the Elflands since the demon war. She didn’t need to prove herself to anybody, and she wasn’t afraid of her grandmother.

She reminded herself of this as they rode into the stableyard at the Pindanons’ capital residence, and continued to remind herself as she took Lorelon’s hand for comfort and walked into the dining room, leaving Trissan outside.

Kael had always used the dining room as her informal receiving area. Esselt knew it was because she could sit at the head of the table, which was positioned so Kael could look over everyone and have an easy view of the door while still seeming approachable. The effect of well-meaning-but-stern matriarch was heightened by the portrait of Kael’s deceased husband hung over her chair, smiling benevolently down on whatever assembly had gathered.

None of the Pindanons but the very stupid or very young were fooled by the setup, since Kael used it as an example when discussing how to control roomfulls of people. That didn’t mean it wasn’t still effective.

Esselt ducked her head, giving the barest of curtseys to her grandmother. Lorelon took note and copied the depth in his bow, which made Kael chuckle.

“No need to bow to me,” Kael said easily, sitting straight-backed in the only chair with arms in the room. “I’m not a queen, to need curtseys.”

Esselt did not miss the quick sidelong glance out the long window along one wall that faced the direction of the palace.

“No,” Esselt agreed blandly, and Kael suppressed a smile.

“And who is this?” Kael asked as she held a hand out to Lorelon, who waited until Esselt released his hand to walk towards Kael.

“I am Lorelon Pindanon Gorlois,” he said, sounding dignified even when his voice cracked in the middle of Gorlois.

Kael smiled at him as he took her hand and bowed over it as minutely as before. “No hug for your grandmother?”

“Great-grandmother,” Esselt said as Lorelon returned Kael’s embrace.

“It isn’t kind to remind me of my age, Esselt,” Kael replied, but she sounded amused as she released Lorelon and sat back. Lorelon shifted a little on his feet, and Kael waved him back to Esselt, still smiling. “He’s charming.”

“He’s right here,” Esselt retorted, and Kael raised an eyebrow at her and turned to look at Lorelon again.

“You’re charming,” Kael told him. “And you’ll grow into the ears - your great-grandfather did. We’ll see about appropriate marriages in a few years, but until then we’ll put you in with some cousins to learn all about your family. They’re younger, and not all of them are as clever as you, but blood covers all manner of sins.”

“You don’t know me, great-grandmother,” Lorelon said quietly. His ears turned a touch red at the tips, but he continued, “You don’t know how clever I am.”

“I hope very,” Kael replied, eyes on Esselt. “I’d hate to think your mother’s marriage tomfoolery was all for nothing.”

Lorelon said nothing. Esselt didn’t blame him: he could hardly be expected to be indignant on behalf of a father he didn’t remember. She stepped in.

“We were young, but that doesn’t make it tomfoolery. Marc had excellent qualities.”

“Marc was pretty,” Kael said, waving a hand. “I’ll grant he helped make a pretty child, but you could have made a pretty child all on your own and been queen to boot.”

Esselt wanted to argue that no one had yet mastered the technique for making a child on their own, let alone a pretty one, and that all efforts towards a royal engagement with Arion had been fruitless both before and after she’d married Marc, but she knew when to cut her losses.

“You could have been a king now,” Kael told Lorelon absently, still looking at her granddaughter. “Though I suppose you might all have been murdered by demons and us stuck with Ander anyway.”

“We managed not to be murdered by demons,” Esselt said to try and cut the topic short.

“Demonstrably,” Kael agreed instead of cooperating with her. “You did well at Faranath.”

Esselt tried to ignore the warmth in her chest at the compliment, but even mixed with the memories of the demon war it stayed.

“Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?” Kael asked. “Ander doesn’t like me much at the moment, but I still have enough support on the council to get you an army commission if I pressed. It might be helpful, to have a Pindanon general - or even just a captain, if they prove particularly recalcitrant - somewhere close at hand.”

_ “No,” _ Esselt said more forcefully than she meant to. She took a breath as Kael watched her through narrowed eyes. “No, I wasn’t looking for a military commision.”

Kael nodded slowly. “Lorelon, I would like to speak to your mother alone. Your cousin Trissan will take you to meet your younger cousins if you like, or to your room, which is attached to your mother’s lest she think I am trying to separate the two of you forever.”

Esselt hadn’t considered that because it would have been stupid, and Kael wasn’t stupid. Kael didn’t want Esselt to work against her at every opportunity, she wanted her working in common cause with the rest of the Pindanons.

Maybe Esselt should have felt worse about not wanting to work in common cause with the rest of the Pindanons.

“Tris will take care of you,” she told Lorelon, who nodded, hugged her quickly, and left with one wary look at Kael.

“He  _ is _ smarter than the rest,” Kael said when he’d gone. “They still think I’m a harmless old lady.”

“Nobody thinks you’re harmless,” Esselt retorted, and took her grandfather’s old place at Kael’s left. When Ethyr had been alive, the seat had arms. Now Esselt folded her hands in her lap and made sure her back was straight.

Kael shrugged and sat forward, leaning her arms on the table. “A less conniving old lady, then.”

“He has a kind grandmother on Marc’s side. He’s old enough to compare and contrast.”

Kael barked a short, surprised laugh. “I have missed you, Esselt.”

Esselt ducked her head, unable to otherwise hide her smile. It might be manipulation, but that didn’t mean Kael wasn’t sincere in her own way.

“How long were you unconscious after Faranath?” her grandmother asked, quietly now. 

Of course Kael knew. It was an effort for Esselt not to rub at the scar on her forearm. “A week. I’m told they spooned broth down my throat and cleaned me up. Undignified, really. It took this long to be mostly presentable.”

“You still tire easily?”

Esselt shrugged. “I’m back in fighting form, Grandmother. Never fear.”

Kael nodded slowly and left the subject alone. “You wanted to ask me something, or you wouldn’t have come.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t entirely  _ untrue  _ either, so instead of arguing Esselt said, “I’ve been thinking of marrying again.”

“Ah,” Kael murmured, drawing it out so it was multiple syllables. She sat back, elbows on the chair arms, steepling her fingers. “Did you have someone in mind, or were you looking for suggestions?”

Esselt looked coyly up through her eyelashes. “Who but the king, Grandmother?”

It took some time for Kael to stop laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I thought I'd put this note in but apparently not! Many thanks to pretty_loud, who came up with the name Scythrid when I was stumped and also for listening to late night ponderings on tumblr.

“The leftovers of a great family,” Kael said, looking at the doors to the council chamber. Esselt had replaced Margasen as her aide today, and Margo had taken it with good grace and a muttered, “good luck.”

“And a king anyway,” Esselt said.

“Arion would at least have been cooperative.”

What Esselt remembered of Arion was not someone who liked cooperation for the sake of it, but maybe he had agreed with Kael. Or maybe Kael had known Arion better, and known how to talk him around. Kael had never had much use for Eventine’s youngest, as evidenced by the lack of engagement attempts up to this point.

“What would you have done with a cooperative king?” Esselt asked. “You’d be bored.”

Kael made a face of consideration as the doors opened to reveal King Ander Elessedil slouched in his chair at the head of the table, the captain of the Home Guard just behind him, leaning against the chair back as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ander said.

He did note new faces, she saw, so at least he wasn’t disinterested in the whole enterprise. Maybe he just hated sitting still, like Tris did. Maybe he didn’t like the councillors who had, after all, at least cooperated in Kael’s coup during the war. Esselt couldn’t help a pang of disappointment anyway: she had hoped that a man so stubborn in his pursuit of peace with other races would seem like _more_ when you saw him.

Ander didn’t look like a man ready to logically discuss his points, and he didn’t look peaceful, either. Mostly he glared at everyone, fingers of one hand tapping restlessly on the arm of his chair while the other hand fiddled with a pen. His mid-brown hair was a mess, and his clothes didn’t look like he’d changed since arriving barely in time for the meeting from his latest excursion. The councillors hardly let him get a word in edgewise as they, one after another, listed eligible marriage candidates.

He could show more interest, Esselt thought. He should, at least, to avoid offending people. They couldn’t physically drag him to the altar, not if they wanted the marriage to be legal. He could just let them talk themselves out, tell them he’d consider all of their excellent points, and _stall._  She was almost offended by the lack of statecraft.

Kael leaned back in her chair just far enough that she could tilt her head and catch Esselt’s eye after one of Ander’s surlier responses. The tilted eyebrow and sideways slant to her mouth said all Esselt needed to know: Kael’s opinion of Ander Elessedil had not changed even slightly.

“Something you’d like to say, Kael?” the king demanded.

“All sorts of things,” Kael said. “I could point out that Councillor Bernam’s cousin is already engaged, for instance.”

“There isn’t anything _formal,”_ Bernam Calet began, and subsided when Kael turned a fondly disappointed look on him.

“Dear Cressida isn’t interested in men at all, and it seems… irresponsible, perhaps? To force her to marry one. Possibly criminal.” Kael shrugged. “Who am I to say?”

Councillor Ahill Trahan shrank away from the stare Ander levelled at him. It was possible he hadn’t known his niece didn’t like men, Esselt supposed, but he fully deserved the way the entire council shifted away from him en masse anyway. Kael had been irritated with the whole thing the night before - Cressida had a good head on her shoulders, and she shouldn’t be consigned to misery when there was a Pindanon who could take her burdens. Esselt fully expected Kael to start throwing Pindanon women Cressida’s way in the next few months.

“And of course we all know why Miss Desar would be unsuitable,” Kael added, and paused. “Either Miss Desar, I suppose.”

Talia Desar shrugged ruefully, otherwise unmoved by the reminder that her cousin had been the king’s lover and that neither Catania nor her sister Elissa had been enthusiastic about the proposed match. “Going to disqualify all of us then, Kael?” Talia asked. “Which grandchild are you putting forward today?”

Even the Councillors Kael had undermined chuckled.

“You have been unusually restrained,” Anglia Meran said. Esselt thought it brave of her: Kael hadn’t even touched on Anglia’s candidate yet. “It used to be we couldn’t start a session without you pointing out your available descendants.”

“Eventine understood the joke,” Kael said, and no one replied.

She let it go on until most of the councillors and their aides were shifting in place, but finally she asked politely, “The next order of business?”

“Of course,” Ander said. “Would you care to explain, Kael, why you only supply _certain_ citizens with food?”

“I?” Kael asked, laying a hand to her chest. “I provide for my own, as is my responsibility. My lands do not encompass the whole of our kingdom, Your Majesty.”

“Hold on,” Devidan Hallon broke in. “You can say a lot of things about Kael, Ander, but my people have been receiving food from Scythrid since the first week after the demons.”

“Scythrid isn’t Kael’s,” Ander retorted. Esselt kept her face expressionless.

"It’s her - sorry, are you a daughter or granddaughter?” Devidan asked Esselt, looking past Kael. “I never can keep all of you straight.”

“Granddaughter,” Esselt said. “Scythrid is my son’s, not mine.”

Devidan waved her off. “They’ve been sending out regular food all over, Ander, and you know the Pindanons don’t sneeze without Kael’s permission.”

Kael endeavored to look modest, but now Esselt let herself curl her lip. Just a little - she didn’t want it too obvious -  but she didn’t want to be known as a woman who needed her grandmother’s permission for anything, especially when the king whose interest she was trying to catch didn’t like her grandmother.

Kael hadn’t known Esselt was sending food anywhere but Pindanon lands. She wouldn’t have tried to stop it, but now her hand tightened a little on the chair arm.

Ander looked directly at Esselt for the first time, and she gave him a curtsey exactly the length of the one she'd given Kael without looking down.

“Thank you for your service,” Ander said. “You weren’t in Arborlon during the war.”

“No, Majesty,” Esselt agreed.

“I think he wants to know where you were, Esselt,” Kael said after a small moment of polite silence.

“Faranath, Majesty,” Esselt said. She tried to make it a crisp reply but fell short of the mark.

“West,” Ander said.

Esselt nodded.

“Esselt commanded the fortress when General Arakis fell,” Kael added.

“There wasn’t much commanding,” Esselt said sharply, and took a deep breath. “We just tried to stay alive, Your Majesty.”

"The captains panicked,” Kael told them all, now crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “One deserted. Of course, Faranath _used_ to be the hereditary responsibility of the Pindanons…”

Esselt wanted her to stop talking, but it didn’t look like it was going to happen soon, so she fixed her gaze on the bit of Ellcrys she could see through the window. The Ellcrys was healthy. There were no demons here. She took a breath and held it, counted to twenty, released it, and repeated, staring at the tree the whole time. Kael’s words fell into background noise she could ignore.

“Are you alright?” someone asked, and Esselt came back to herself to realize her hands were clenched on the back of Kael’s chair. It was the king who had asked, and he had interrupted Kael, who was now craning around to look at her granddaughter.

“Of course,” Esselt said. Her voice sounded vague to her own ears, but no one else seemed to think anything was off. She smiled automatically - she could smile and look sincere about it by the age of six.

The rest of the meeting went more smoothly - or at least, with fewer digs at each other, even if there was some yelling - until the council concluded that they would reconvene in three days with more research done on a particular subject.

Esselt wanted to go take a nap or take Lorelon to see the Ellcrys, but she still had plans so instead she waited with Kael.

 

* * *

 

Ander had not changed after his ride, nor had he shaved or brushed his hair. Mostly it was because he had arrived with fifteen minutes to spare before the council meeting and Edain said it would be bad form to keep them all waiting, but he could admit that it was partly to annoy the councillors.

He’d noticed that Kael brought a different aide today, but hadn’t paid much attention: all of Kael’s aides were related to her in one way or another, and none of them spoke in council. Then Kael had been uncharacteristically and worryingly helpful, and Ander had snapped at her, and Devidan had brought the granddaughter to Ander’s attention.

And now she and Kael remained when the rest of the council filed out.

The granddaughter - Esselt - had painted her lips a dark red: it was the only sign of cosmetics he could see from where he was. Her hair was a riot of curls that stood out from her head, her eyes an unidentifiable light color that she had perhaps inherited from Kael. She had not inherited Kael’s skin tone: her skin was darker than Diana’s had been.

She was also standing with one hip barely cocked and her hands held in front of her. If he looked, he knew, he’d have a view of her chest.

He didn’t look. The brief reminder of Diana had been enough to remind him that everything was awful. He looked at Kael instead.

“Did you want something?” he asked.

Kael exchanged a look with Esselt, raising an eyebrow.

"Well?" he demanded.

"I have a proposal," Kael said.

Ander hoped that his expression conveyed exactly how little he cared. Kael frowned at him, so he might have been successful, but it was entirely possible she was frowning at him just to frown at him.

“Grandmother,” Esselt said, touching Kael’s arm when Kael frowned harder at Ander. “Maybe I should speak to His Majesty alone?”

Edain cleared his throat, one hand on his sword hilt, and Esselt shrugged and amended, “As alone as is practical.”

There was no sign of the vacant expression she’d been wearing earlier when Kael was detailing the events of Faranath, nor of the white knuckled grip she’d had on Kael’s chair. Esselt could not have wanted to discuss Faranath any less, which made Ander curious. Maybe there was a report hidden somewhere on his desk written by someone other than Kael, or maybe he could ask Esselt about it, when her grandmother wasn’t too busy singing her praises to mention anything else. It could have been discomfort at receiving the lion’s share of the credit, when she had already tried to disclaim ‘much commanding.’

Kael shrugged, patted Esselt on the shoulder, and swept out without even a goodbye. It wasn’t anything less than Ander expected.

“Shall we sit?” Esselt asked, waving a hand to the council’s table and chairs. Ander sat automatically. Esselt took the seat to his left, sitting with perfect posture. Ander would bet money that her ankles were crossed beneath the table.

When she said nothing else, just frowned out the window at Amberle - the Ellcrys, he should remember - he said, “Far be it from me to ask why someone decided to do their civic duty, but why _did_ you decide to go through with relief efforts without asking Kael?”

“I’m not a lapdog,” Esselt said, looking back at him. “I don’t need her permission to do anything to do with my l- the lands I’m responsible for.”

Her son’s lands, he remembered. Scythrid was a country barony though, and it belonged to some branch or another of the Gorlois family, if he remembered correctly. The Gorlois were an old family, but the had never been powerful or even very wealthy. How one of Kael’s direct descendants ended up marrying into them - a descendant she seemed fond of, even - was beyond Ander. Kael’s progeny seemed to always marry to advantage though, so he assumed there was something there that he wasn’t seeing.

“I’m sure your husband fought bravely,” he said for lack of anything else. Arion and Diana had both fought bravely, and it was cold comfort for him, but it would be colder comfort to say nothing at all. “Was he with you at Faranath?”

“No,” Esselt replied. “He didn’t die fighting at all - it was twelve years ago. An accident.”

“Oh,” Ander said. “I’m sorry, I  - that’s the same year my brother died.”

Esselt nodded. “I was sorry to hear. I liked Aine.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him.”

She smiled, and he noticed that her dress was exact shade of her lipstick. “Kael tried to marry me off to both your brothers at one time or another.”

“What, at the same time?” he asked without thinking.

“If she could have managed it,” Esselt replied, still smiling. “Double security. But I married Marc instead, and Kael still hasn’t forgiven me. At least she acknowledges that Aine wasn’t my fault.”

Ander tried to think of the timeline involved and couldn’t. Esselt didn’t look any older than him, and Aine had been born a decade earlier. “How-”

“It isn’t polite to ask a lady her age,” Esselt told him primly, but even if she wasn’t smiling anymore she still looked amused.

“A lady could offer it freely and make a gentleman slightly less awkward,” he said.

“As Your Majesty wishes,” Esselt murmured, lowering her head and looking up at him through her lashes. She was leaning forward again. “I turn thirty-two this year.”

Any inclination to take the invited glance at her chest vanished. “Kael was trying to marry you off when you were _fifteen_?”

“Betroth me at fourteen,” Esselt said. “Six months after Carnelia died, if I recall. She thought a long engagement would be perfect. Aine talked to her and she didn’t mention it again - I think it’s the only time I’ve ever seen my grandmother ashamed.”

He assumed his face showed his horror - Aine and Carnelia remained in his memory as the happiest married couple he had ever known, and suggesting that Aine remarry so soon after she died, never mind suggesting a child…

“She suggested your father first,” Esselt added helpfully.

Behind Ander, Edain choked.

“Did you want me to arrest her?” Ander asked. “I can't promise to make it stick.”

Esselt blinked at him. “Why? I agreed. I was raised with certain skills. Being queen would have given me the greatest scope for them.”

It was good to be reminded that she was as much a Pindanon as the rest of her family.

“What did you want from me?” he asked.

She sat back, looking all too much like Kael despite all the physical differences. “Do you really believe all that? Peace with the gnomes, reaching out to the humans, that sort of thing? What about the sky elves?”

“The sky elves are welcome if they want to be,” he said. “I’ve already made peace with the gnomes, it’s just people like your grandmother who refuse to acknowledge it. The humans can’t be much harder.”

“The humans’ governments are scattered and don’t like to listen to each other,” Esselt said, watching him carefully.  “That will take work. The dwarves don’t like to talk to outsiders.”

“And I have the Crimson running wild in my backyard,” Ander retorted. “I have better relations with the gnomes than with most of my nobles. I know it’ll be hard, that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing.”

“With which nobles do you have better relations than the gnomes?” Esselt asked delicately.

Ander opened his mouth to reply, realized that Edain probably didn’t count, and closed it. The Desars wouldn’t actively work against him either, but he wasn’t sure they would have supported him wholeheartedly even before Catania had broken up with him.

Esselt nodded as if he had actually answered. “You should let them think you’re considering at least some of their candidates.”

“Should I,” he said flatly.

“And then, after a month or two of easier legislation,” she continued, “you should marry me.”

_“What?”_

“Sorry, announce that we’re engaged. An actual royal marriage can’t be planned subtly or quickly, unless you want people to think we’ve fallen madly in love.”

Ander looked over his shoulder at Edain, whose expression had turned thoughtful.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Edain said. “You know you shouldn’t have dismissed the marriage thing that easily.”

_“She was seventeen.”_

“Ofelia is,” Esselt agreed. “And obviously you can’t express interest in Cressida without being awful, but the others?”

“Why do you even want to marry me?”

“I want the proper scope for my talents,” Esselt said. “I want to be queen.”

He stared at her. She stared back.

“I want to be _your_ queen,” she said finally. “I want to make peace. I’ll help you either way, but I think I would be most effective as your wife. Kael would be pleased that you have a Pindanon wife and one of her descendants will rule. You know already that Kael is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Kael won’t support my policies, no matter how fond you think she is of you,” Ander told her.

“I know that,” Esselt said impatiently. “But _I_ will. Kael won’t be made powerless by any means, but nobody will be sure exactly what her plan is or if she has one.”

“So you want political chaos,” Edain said.

“If everyone is fighting each other here, in this room,” Esselt said, jabbing a finger into the table, “then they aren’t paying as much attention to what we’re doing in other places. Not to mention the benefits of playing them off each other. If you marry a Desar or a Morran or Hallon, you’ll bring that family into more prominence, but not enough to upset Kael anyway, so she’ll keep on her merry way.”

“Why do you support Ander?” Edain asked.

“I want peace,” Esselt said again. “I don’t like fighting.”

“You commanded at Faranath.”

“I didn’t _like_ it,” she said, and added after a moment in softer tones, “I don’t like who I am when I’m fighting.”

Edain shot Ander an unreadable look, but Ander thought he knew, a little, what Esselt might mean.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

Esselt nodded, stood only to drop into a shallow curtsey, and swept out.

“Please tell me you’ve just learned to be politic,” Edain said when she was gone. “You aren’t considering actually marrying a Pindanon.”

Ander didn’t want to lie to his friend, so he shrugged instead.

 

* * *

 

Kael hadn’t waited for Esselt outside the council room, but she did wait in the study Eventine had given her as a courtesy. Esselt wasn’t sure if the study was technically Kael’s anymore, but no one had stopped her using it.

“How did it go?” her grandmother asked, looking up from a stack of paperwork. Esselt felt a pang of guilt, but only a pang. She and Kael both wanted what was best for the Elflands, but Kael was wrong about what that was, and she hadn’t listened to reason thus far.

“I have him interested,” Esselt said, and left it at that.


	3. Chapter 3

“A party,” Ander said flatly.

 Edain shrugged. “I can but relay the information as it was given to me.”

 His best friend’s too-formal language was ill-timed for levity, but Ander let it go.

 “Why are they giving you messages to run to me?”

 “Presumably because I’ll actually deliver them,” Edain said, and Ander frowned at him.

 “Give me the note.”

 “I think there’s perfume on it,” Edain mused, stepping neatly back from Ander’s grab. “Feels pretty solid, did the Pindanons splurge on good paper just because you thought one was pretty?”

 “They’re all pretty and they all know it,” Ander retorted, managing to grab a corner. Edain released it with a laugh, dropping into a chair.

 The invitation was straightforward, with no specific mentions of Ander or Esselt, just time and date and expected mode of dress.

 “Oh, hell,” Ander said. “Scarves.”

 “You used to like scarf dances,” Edain pointed out. Ander glared at him: Edain only propped his feet up on Ander’s desk and looked innocent.

 “I liked them when everyone knew what they were getting,” Ander bit out. “Now everybody’s trying to marry me.”

 Edain made a sad face. “Poor Ander. So many women falling over themselves to be agreeable.”

 “It’s usually their parents making them,” Ander said. “I didn’t have to worry about that when I was a spare.”

 “You didn’t worry about anything when you were a spare,” Edain said, which wasn’t entirely true but it wasn’t like he’d cared about the right things either. Ander shrugged it off.

 “Go or no?” Edain asked.

 Ander sighed.

 

* * *

 

 Ander probably should have arrived with more fanfare. It wasn’t like he could keep his attendance a secret anyway - the king wasn’t ever going to be unrecognizable, not in this company, and the Pindanons weren’t going to be quiet about getting him to attend their events when he’d avoided so many others. Guards might have made him feel better. He didn’t think Kael was going to murder him in her own house, not if her granddaughter had proposed to him and was waiting for an answer, but paranoia was, he felt, understandable when dealing with a woman who had successfully ousted him once.

 Edain said otherwise. “Show them you aren’t afraid of them.”

 “You mean, show Kael I’m not afraid of her,” Ander said. “Only I am, and she knows it, and I have _good reason.”_

 “Politics is the science of polite fiction,” Edain told him, and dragged him to the door. For someone so opposed to the Pindanons, Edain was awfully willing to go to one of their parties.

 Ahead, Ander heard a laugh. It was artful and perfect and too much like bells to be real: Esselt. Ander remembered one of Amberle’s nurses trying to coach her into appropriate laughter before Aine had told her, politely but firmly, that Amberle’s laughs were all too perfect to be changed.

 How would Aine have reacted to a fiancee with court-appropriate laughter? Ander wondered. How would Arion?

 “No, Kael couldn’t be with us tonight, I’m afraid something came up,” Esselt said, barely audibly. Her smile as they approached was perfectly even, and Councillor Hardin seemed charmed enough as he bent to kiss her hand. “You’ll have to deal with me as hostess tonight.”

 “Sounds terrible,” Edain said cheerfully.

 Esselt raised an eyebrow at Edain, smile still in place, as Hardin straightened and cast an unreadable look over his own shoulder. “You are of course welcome to leave,” she replied, sweet as anything. “I believe only His Majesty’s name was on the invitation.”

 “Sorry,” Edain said, sounding even cheerier and not sorry at all. “Where he goes, I go.”

 “Surely not _everywhere,”_ Esselt murmured, looking Edain up and down as critically as she did blatantly, and Hardin cleared his throat.

 “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, and all but scrambled away.

 “You’ve made your point,” Ander told her, though he wasn’t sure what her point was exactly.

 “I usually do,” Esselt agreed. Her smile relaxed, becoming marginally less symmetrical when she looked at him. “Be welcome to our home, Your Majesty. I hope we aren’t too boring.”

 “Do you _do_ boring?” he asked in spite of himself.

 “Tell me later,” she said, and turned to the next guest.

 It was Ander’s turn to drag Edain, who stared after Esselt with a calculating expression.

 “Too much woman for you,” Edain informed him when they were safely away.

 “Thanks.”

 “Too much woman for me too. Don’t feel bad, there’s still Imogen.”

 “I am going to tell her you said that,” Ander said, still dragging him. There had to be food somewhere. He would talk to Councillors and nobles when he’d eaten.

  

* * *

 

“I like the mouthy one,” Trissan said.

Esselt looked at Roderick. “You aren’t mouthy at all. How should I take this?”

“Sure,” Tris said. “Liking a guy means I want to sleep with him. Obviously.”

“I was mouthy once,” Roderick said emotionlessly, ignoring his husband. “Now I am but a broken shell, and he looks for someone new.”

“Dick,” Tris muttered, but he sounded fond. “Seriously Ez, marry the cute guard captain and leave the sulky sovereign to his own devices.”

“If only you had any influence on my marriages,” Esselt said, and swept off before he could think of a reply.

Margo caught her halfway around the room, smiling coldly at Talia Desar before moving to neatly separate Esselt from the rest of the room. Talia shrugged good naturedly and turned back to the buffet.

“Your king is standing in the corner talking to nobody,” Margo said. “Do us all a favor and beat common courtesy into him.”

“You don’t think that’s treason?” Esselt asked.

Margo, who was younger than Esselt and Tris but not as young as the rest of the cousins, fixed her with one unamused eye. “You aren’t the only one who wants your plan to work, Esselt,” she said. “Stop treating the rest of us like we’re idiots.”

“Oh, Morgasen,” Esselt sighed theatrically, tossing her hair over her shoulder. The light was perfect here to show off how sharp her cheekbones were. To be fair, there were eight other places around the room lit similarly: Esselt did not like to leave things to chance. “If I didn’t treat you like idiots, none of you would have anything to _prove.”_

“I’m not Kael,” Margo said, unmoved and even, to Esselt’s displeasure, unannoyed. “That means you can’t look enough like your mother to distract me. And I’m not Trissan, so you can’t guilt me into not paying attention when you’re plotting.”

“You’re you,” Esselt agreed. “Hence the insult to your intelligence.”

Margo snorted.

“Yes, fine,” Esselt said. “I will go tutor my future husband in the ways of polite mingling, are you happy?”

She noted that Margo did seem happy, and did not argue Ander’s classification as Esselt’s future husband as Tris might have.

Edain saw her before Ander, which meant at least he was an alert guard. Ander was not as hopeless as Margo had painted him, at least: he stood talking to Elissa and Talia Desar. If he looked strained, she supposed she had to give him some leeway. His ex-girlfriend’s sister and their family matriarch might be awkward conversation-mates.

Behind the group stood a hovering and anxious Ofelia Jeptanah though, so Esselt walked past to talk to the girl. Only the people Esselt wanted to be anxious should look that way at one of her parties.

 Ofelia was only a few years older than Lorelon. Both of them had the same endearing gawkiness that meant they would be tall when fully grown but now made them feel out of place and clumsy. Esselt had put Lorelon to work with a sword when he complained of the feeling, to let him get used to his body and concentrate on something else. It didn’t look like anyone had thought to do the same for Ofelia. Of course, Ofelia’s sudden riches were due to the death of her entire immediate family and Lorelon had been raised as a fully invested baron. More care had been taken with Lorelon’s education.

 Esselt didn’t like it. At least Kael had a hand in all the Pindanon’s educations, even if it was so they could all be useful one day. What had Ofelia’s grandfather been thinking?

 “Have you tried the venison yet?” Esselt asked the girl, smiling as she approached. “I know it’s an extravagance at the moment, but Trissan did catch it fair and square. Our cook nearly wept when she saw it.”

 Ofelia turned wide green eyes to her, face paler even than usual. “I don’t think I could eat,” she said. “I’m not - I don’t feel well.”

 “Water then,” Esselt said, making sure she sounded cheerful as she led the girl to a table near the wall and sat her down.

 “I’m supposed to say hello to the king,” Ofelia said, but it didn’t sound like a protest.

 “You can say hello later,” Esselt replied, snagging the water carafe in the middle of the table and pouring a glass. “He’ll be here all night, I promise. You aren’t having fun. I like people to have fun at my parties.”

 “I don’t like parties much,” Ofelia confessed, taking a sip of water. She still sounded lost, but at least some color had come back into her cheeks. Her eyes widened again. “Oh, no! Yours is nice!”

 “No parties are nice if you don’t like them,” Esselt said. “You don’t have to cater to my ego tonight.”

 She couldn’t help but raise a hand to Ofelia’s forehead to check her temperature. The girl didn’t have a fever, but she was clammy. Ofelia blinked at her when she pulled away.

 “Don’t look so surprised,” Esselt said. “I know the basics of childcare, I promise.”

 “I’m not a child,” Ofelia snapped, which Esselt took as a good sign.

 “It’s not an insult,” Esselt said mildly. “Just a measure of how long you’ve been alive.”

 “I’m not fragile.”

 “I needed water and somebody to talk to at my first party with a king,” Esselt said.

 Ofelia’s eyes narrowed, and Esselt kept her expression pleasantly concerned. She had been seven at the time and that the person she’d talked to was Tris, who hadn’t been even a year younger, but Ofelia didn’t need to know that. Esselt had not, admittedly, been expected to talk to Eventine, just curtsy in the right places.

 She had told Arion he was being rude over a pastry, and Aine had said in all seriousness that she was correct. Even at seventeen Aine had been everything a prince should be, and kind on top of it. Esselt couldn’t miss him exactly, not on a personal level, but everyone missed what he had represented.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Ofelia said finally.

“You shouldn’t be sure you can believe anybody,” Esselt said, and had to correct herself. “Well. Some people. Nobody you don’t know well. Trust but verify.”

“You are not encouraging.”

“Was I supposed to be? Drink your water, go look at the gardens for a minute, and then say hello to the king and go on your way. I promise to keep him busy and make sure it’s short.”

“My uncle says you want to be queen,” Ofelia said. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Esselt shrugged and stood. “I do want to be queen. That doesn’t mean I can’t be nice to you.”

She left the girl with a little wave.

 

* * *

 

 

“You didn’t poison her or anything, did you?” Ander asked half-seriously as Esselt approached.

 Esselt didn’t seem offended at the suggestion, but she did favor him with a look of profound disappointment. “At my own party?”

 Edain snickered.

 “I’m not going to poison anyone who isn’t my competition, let alone a child,” Esselt continued, waving the idea off.

 “So I should warn the other ladies with their names put forward to hire tasters,” Edain said.

 Esselt’s entire posture changed. Ander knew she was posing - she had to be, to change so quickly - but she didn’t _look_ like it. She seemed suddenly even more sure of herself than usual, and light glinted off of hair pins he hadn’t noticed before, and her dress looked like it should be sheer even if it wasn’t. She stepped closer to Ander, elbow nearly brushing his, and asked, voice low as she looked up at him through her lashes, “Are they really my competition?”

 In the two seconds it took Ander’s brain to say anything other than ‘umm’, Edain stepped in.

 “He’s not _that_ easy.”

 “If only,” she said, and stepped away. “I suppose it’s a good thing.”

 “Don’t break him, Esselt,” Talia, who Ander had forgotten about completely, admonished.

 “I have the opposite in mind,  I promise,” Esselt assured her.

 “I can speak for myself,” Ander finally managed. “I don’t think trying to seduce me in the middle of a party is appropriate.”

 “Where else would I?” Esselt asked.

 “I think Catania managed in his rooms,” Elissa said.

 “That’s enough,” Ander snapped. He wasn’t sure what it was in his tone that made them all stop and stare at him, but he wished he could do it more often. Just because Elissa was Catania’s sister didn’t mean she had a right to joke about their relationship.

 Esselt’s face had gone disappointed again, but it wasn’t directed at him this time. Elissa blushed, staring over the group’s collective heads and clearly wishing she was anywhere else.

 No one said anything. Ander took petty satisfaction in everyone’s growing discomfort - even Edain shifted on his feet.

 Esselt just waited. He had the feeling she had experience with awkward silences. She probably caused them, he thought uncharitably, and then sat back to see what everyone else did with it.

 Which was, of course, exactly what he was doing now. He sighed.

 “Just not Catania, please?” he asked Elissa.

 “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said.

 “Me instead,” Esselt said. “Now, Ander, I have had complaints. Come talk to people before they think you don’t like them.”

 I don’t, Ander thought but again did not say. Since when were they on a first name basis?

 Esselt linked her arm through his and he found himself moving with her, dragging not required. Edain trailed behind looking suspicious.

 “You ignored Hardin when you came in,” she murmured too quietly for even Edain to hear. “And now Ofelia hasn’t said hello. He’s looking grumpy in a corner, much like you were.”

“You were the one who stopped Ofelia,” he pointed out just as quietly.

“And now you’re walking with me,” she said, smiling her perfect smile at one of of the Calets they passed. “He might think it sends a message.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely. Let’s go assure him that the message isn’t a bad one.”

She was talking and planning as if she had the right to plan these sorts of things, as if they already were engaged. Ander minded it less than he should. He was tired, and someone else managing something for a change was comforting.

Eventine would be disappointed in him, but Eventine was always going to be. Diana probably wouldn’t mind him taking a break, and Aine wouldn’t have. Arion’s objections to Ander taking breaks had had more to do with the drinking involved than the breaks themselves, and since Ander had confined himself to water tonight he thought Arion might even have let him off the hook. Ander let himself be led.


	4. Chapter 4

Ander was charming when he relaxed, Esselt decided. She had begun to wonder how much of the stories were just stories.

He would have to work on that unless he _wanted_ to be known as the unpredictable king. She didn’t think he did, so he needed to be charming even when he wasn’t relaxed.

She swung him out on the dance floor when someone - presumably Margo, Tris wouldn’t have thought of it - decided it was time for the music to start. Edain didn’t follow, but he looked miffed about it.

“What I find myself wondering,” Ander said, moving easily and taking the lead without clear decision to do so, which she allowed to see how he danced - she’d have to remember he was more comfortable moving - “is how you know so much about the politics here if you’ve been off in the west for a decade.”

“Maybe I’m just that good.”

“I think you might be,” he admitted. Esselt tried not to let the praise go to her head, but as with Kael, it warmed her.

Still, she hoped he wasn’t stupid. Stupid monarchs made a mess of things, good counsel or no.

“But in this case, with a war on and your Lady Grandmother being who she is,” Ander continued to her relief, “I assume you were briefed. I want to know what she said.”

“About you?” Esselt asked. He spun her out and she went with it, making sure her skirts flared correctly. He gave her legs an absent once-over before he spun her back in. She suspected it was habit rather than actual appreciation: her legs were excellent, if she said so herself. If he’d been really looking it wouldn’t be absently.

“I don’t care what Kael said about me,” he said, and frowned as he brought her around to face him. “That’s not true. I’m pretty sure I _know_ what Kael said about me.”

Esselt raised a brow.

“Irresponsible,” he said. “Incompetent. Stupid.” He didn’t falter a step, guiding her around the other couples who had joined them. Esselt refrained from purposefully knocking into Tris and Roderick when they spun a little too close, but only because Ander shifted easily to take them into account.

“Kael likes to see people who don’t agree with her as stupid,” Esselt agreed. “I won’t tell you what she said when I married Marc.”

She hadn’t called Esselt incompetent - it was probably the worst insult Kael could offer, and she hadn’t been able to make herself label her granddaughter that way - but it had been close.

“Reckless,” Ander continued. “I think she ended with ‘drunken sot’ when I put her in prison.”

“Well,” Esselt said. “You did put her in prison.”

“It was nice while it lasted,” he said wistfully. It surprised a laugh from her.

When she looked back at him he was smiling a little. “That’s a different laugh.”

“I have laughs for all occasions,” she told him, and took back the lead. She braced herself for some resistance or at least confusion, but no: Ander followed easy as anything.

“You didn’t get that from Kael,” he said. “Did your mother have laughs for all occasions? Is it a natural talent or something you had to learn?”

“All I have from my parents are my looks and my family,” Esselt replied. Ander accepted her little nudge and spun under her arm, ducking to accomodate the height difference. “I didn’t know them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a common problem after the war,” Esselt said. “Well. Any war. I was lucky - the Pindanons take care of their own.”

“That doesn’t make me less sorry.”

“So you see,” Esselt continued as if he hadn’t said anything, “there are all sorts of reasons I’d prefer peace.”

“What does Kael say to that?”

“That we will have peace,” Esselt said, trying to keep the rising panic out of her voice. It wouldn’t help, and having an episode at her own party was not something she relished. “Once everyone acknowledges the superiority and authority of the Elflands.”

“Nobody is going to _do_ that,” Ander snapped, voice rising.

“Not without a war, anyway,” Esselt agreed, voice quieter than his but also pitched higher than she meant. It was almost sing-song.

She didn’t stumble - she never stumbled - but suddenly Ander had taken an extra step and she was following again.

She cleared her throat. It helped a little. “Kael thinks it is the only long-term solution.”

Ander’s eyes narrowed at her, and he said abruptly, “I need some water.”

“We haven’t even finished a dance,” Esselt said. She sounded normal, she thought. Probably thinking about whether or not you sounded normal meant you had something to worry about. “What happened to those stories about your stamina?”

“Exaggerated,” Ander replied, hand under her elbow. She was absently grateful for it as he escorted her to a table. “Edain, some room?”

She hadn’t noticed Edain following them to the table. That was a problem.

Ander put her in a chair and handed her a glass of water. She drank it.

“You don’t faint,” Ander said conversationally. “You don’t get paranoid or think you’re somewhere else.”

“I’ve never fainted in my life,” Esselt said on the basis that it was mostly true. Faranath didn’t count. She put the glass down: it took more effort than it should have to make sure it was upright and on the table, but she managed.

Ander moved the glass farther back from the edge of the table without comment.

“I,” Esselt said, very clearly and in a completely even tone because he was being reasonable and her family would never, ever let her live down falling to bits at her own party, “do not like that I like fighting.”

Ander nodded.

“I do not like that I want to fight,” she clarified. “I don’t even like that I’m good at it. I don’t like that it’s easier.”

“Understandable.”

“Ask me what happened at Faranath,” she dared. He was all that she could see: everything else had blurred into unrecognizability. Everything echoed. “You want to.”

“Probably not a subject for a party,” he said.

He was being _kind,_ Esselt realized. He was being kind because she -

She reached for the water again. Ander didn’t help her, even when she fumbled - she could see the water drops bloom on the tablecloth for some reason, why was her family so obsessed with _red_. It was a larger victory than she wanted to admit, that she managed to get the glass to her mouth without spilling water all over her dress.

They sat in silence, Esselt sipping her water as the rest of the world started existing again.

“That was embarrassing,” she murmured as Ander refilled the glass for her.

Ander shrugged and looked away. He’d sat next to her at some point, far enough away that they weren’t touching but close enough to catch her if something happened. “I hate everybody and drink, so. You probably don’t wake up in yesterday’s clothes with hangovers that everybody knows about. In comparison you’re a paragon of dignity.”

“I never doubted that,” she said, setting aside the water glass and blotting the sweat from her face with a napkin. She was good at not smearing her makeup: she’d had practice.

His mouth twitched. “New deal.”

“We don’t have a deal yet,” she said. “You haven’t said yes.”

“Additional deal.”

She nodded graciously for him to go on and hoped none of the sweat she could feel showed in unsightly places on her dress.

“Keep an eye on me, and I’ll keep an eye on you,” he said.

Esselt almost said, you won’t be able to keep either eye off of me, I’m captivating, but she bit the words back. He was taking her seriously and she wanted him to keep doing it.

“Agreed,” she said instead, holding out a hand to shake on it.

He did.

“I’m thinking spring for the wedding,” she continued. “Under the Ellcrys. Obviously.”

“Why obviously?” he asked, still holding her hand.

“Do I have to explain symbolism to you?” she asked. “I will if you want.”

He snorted, and she added, “Also, my whole family is going to be there, so yours should be too.”

His face froze.

She wished he knew when she was being nice. He could tell when she was being mean - he thought it was funny, even - why couldn’t he tell when she was being nice? He’d thought she might hurt Ofelia too.

“I’m not actually cruel,” she said, leaning forward so she could hold his hand in both of hers. “I take steps not to be, anyway. I think that counts for something.”

“Yeah,” he said blankly, and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about Amberle.”

Esselt didn’t think that was true, not really, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about Amberle with _her_ so the point might be moot.

“I would like to be married under the Ellcrys for personal and symbolic reasons,” she said. “If you wouldn’t, say so.”

“And you’d just agree?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied, sitting back again. She didn’t let go of his hand, though. She wasn’t going to let go until he did. “I’d argue for it and you could argue against it until one of us conceded the point.”

“Are you planning to concede to any of my points?” Ander asked. This time he leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. He still didn’t let go. “Ever?”

“Only if they’re really good,” Esselt admitted.

“That’s better than the council anyway,” Ander said. He sounded suddenly tired: Esselt restrained the impulse to reach out and feel his forehead like she had Ofelia’s. She wasn’t sure yet how he would take it.

“I’m better than the council in all ways,” she informed him, squeezing the hand he’d forgotten she was holding, if his startled glance down was any indication. “You’ll see. I’ll prove it.”

* * *

 

It was stupid to obsess over holding hands with someone, Ander decided later, staring up at his ceiling. Further, thinking about how nice it had been to hold hands when the woman you had been holding hands with had just had a panic attack was probably inappropriate. Diana would have read him the riot act if it had been her.

No she wouldn’t have. He was making excuses and he knew it. Diana would have told him he was being silly for throwing away a chance to have a partner, probably. It wasn’t Diana’s fault he’d messed them up, and it wasn’t Diana’s fault that he’d changed too much to make it work the way they could have before, and it wasn’t Diana’s fault that she’d died heroically before they could try something different.

Thinking about trying again with Diana was its own kind of guilt, given the givens. Ander should not be trusted with important decisions was what it came down to, personal _or_ political, but nobody else seemed to see that killing people was generally a bad idea so here they were.

Catania doesn’t think war is good, he reminded himself. Esselt is not the only person in the Elflands who agrees with you. There’s Edain too.

Three people did not feel like much of a following, especially when one of them barely spoke to him these days. Wil had ridden off to be a healer when he couldn’t find Eretria, Allanon had ridden off who knew where, and of course Eretria was probably dead.

Oh look. More guilt. He should have sent people to help Wil look, but who did you trust to look for one of the people your niece loved more than most anybody?

Edain, probably. He could have sent Edain, but then who could he trust here? Catania wasn’t a guard, for all she knew the palace better than anybody.

So you left Eretria dead and probably unburied to keep yourself safe, he finished, as he did most nights.

There was no wine in his rooms for moments like these. Instead, he rolled over and buried his face in a pillow. Maybe he’d suffocate and not have to deal with anything in the morning.

He didn’t suffocate. It was a shame.

“I hate this country,” he whispered into the pillows as a new servant threw open the curtains in the morning, and then he reminded himself of Aine and Carnelia and Arion and Amberle and Diana and hauled himself out of bed to deal with it anyway.

 


End file.
